


Open Season

by TheWritingMustache



Series: Bad Moon Series [4]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Gen, M/M, Supernatural Elements, Werewolf, guns and guns and guns, hunting season, storyline and flashbacks, warning; actual plot ahead, weird happenings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-30 00:34:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWritingMustache/pseuds/TheWritingMustache
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grab your guns, and grab your Assassins, it’s hunting season. This year’s game is a little bit bigger, a little more deadly, and oh yeah, it’s you that’s being hunted. Not a problem, right? Oh the fun Desmond is going to have. Sequel to Bad Moon Hell Raisers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When I Was A Boy I Watched the Wolves

**Author's Note:**

> This story will only make a hell of a lot more sense if you read Bad Moon first. JUST SAYIN
> 
> All i wanna say is that the same warnings that were in Hell Raisers is also present in this story as well. There will be plenty of M/M fluff, lots of colorful language, and blood and sadness and death (no not this time), and other things. So that's your one warning.
> 
> Other than that, I still don't own Assassin's Creed, so there's the one disclaimer. Now start reading.
> 
> Oh yeah, this takes place a few months after Bad Moon Hell Raisers, and the second half of this chapter flashback. JUST LETTING YOU KNOW NOW
> 
> edit 3/14/15 ;; enjoy the soundtrack as you read! http://8tracks.com/fancykelstache/bad-moon-soundtrack

Desmond was alone, he thought. He was sure he was, for now anyway. His back was to a tree, his breath coming out in puffs before his face. He zipped his jacket up higher, shivering at the late night November chill. Wait- he checked his watch, holding it up into the bright moonlight of the full moon. Yup, it was after midnight, officially November. Funny, his first Halloween night not spent in front of the TV watching bad horror movies while gorging on candy and beer.

But instead of watching movies, he felt like he was in one. Except it wasn't the fat guy in the hockey mask chasing after him. Oh no, he had _so_ much worse after him. Except, he had lost them a while ago…Or they lost him, which was very, very unlikely. Either way, he needed to keep moving. Desmond bounced away to another tree, moonlight illuminating his form for a brief second until the shadows hid him again. He knew they could hear them from wherever they were. Knew they could hear him from miles away, smell him as clearly as standing next to a grill with a steak on it. For them, finding him wasn't going to be a problem. Catching him, Desmond hoped to make that part difficult for them. 

Even they could outrun him.

After living here for practically four months, Desmond still didn't know the mountainside as well as his hunters. For all he knew, he could still be the cabin again, or on the other side of the mountain. He had probably been chased all over the damn thing by now, you'd think he'd know his way. But he could still still tell he was near the base of the mountain as opposed to the top. The ground beneath him was relatively flat and didn't slope as much. Multiple times he debated going up, but decided against hiking up it in the dark without a guide.

No, not so much the dark. The full moons here were just incredibly bright and Desmond never had a problem finding his way around. Granted, he didn't know where he was, but he could at least somewhat _see_. And judging by the loud growling that suddenly came from behind him, he wasn't the only one.

Without bothering to look behind him, Desmond took off running. Dead leaves and twigs crunched beneath him, shattering any attempt at any stealth he had before. His pursuer was persistent, never faltering or never losing focus on him. He couldn't tell who it was chasing him, Malik could easily mow him down even with jus three legs. Whoever it was, they were going easy on him. For them, the chase was just a game, nothing they took seriously because it took more effort to fart than it did chasing down a full grown deer. Or full grown Desmond in this case.

Desmond was running out of breath though. He had been doing this all night since the moon came out, and even though he wasn't a too shabby of a runner, escaping giant ass wolves was a very exhausting activity. And he was apparently tired enough for one small stumble to be an open invitation to be pounced. A large body slammed into his back, knocking him flat to the ground. Desmond groaned in pain, then froze up when hot air blasted the back of his neck. Now, one of two things could happen here. Either they'd wrap their jaws around his neck in a display of dominance and as a reminder that he was indeed a ragdoll to them or…

"Oh god no" Desmond yelled, reflexively tensing up as a cold nose dug its way under his collar of his jacket and a wet striped was licked across the back of his neck. And dear _fuck_ he hated that. "Get off me, you're so gross!" he whined, and the weight on his back lifted. A dark shaped circled around him and Malik's black furry face stick itself in his. _Speak of the goddamn devil._ "Hi, nice to see you too" Desmond greeted deadpanned, wriggling an arm out from beneath him to reach up and scratch at Malik's chin. The black wolf's rear plopped to the ground, his fluffy tail sweeping it furiously in delight.

As much of an asshole Malik was, he actually made a pretty lax wolf. That one night a month he was semi-nice, but at least sweet in a way. Desmond did like though, human and wolf halves. With Malik, it was different everyday as to whether or not he liked Desmond back. Some days he was pissy as hell and didn't want to be bothered. And then other days he was his normal, apathetic, but sarcastic self. Then every once in a while he was  very, very affectionate. 

Probably just normal person behavior mixed with wolf behavior, but still as confusing as a girl in middle school. Wolf-Malik though, he was alright. Because while he acted like an overgrown puppy most of the time, he was still a vicious, two hundred pound predator that could gut a bull no problem, so Desmond did his best not to piss him off.

A howl split the night air, a long and wavy echoing through the trees. A second, harsher howl followed it, a fake sound that couldn't fool anyone into thinking it was a wolf (anyone who knew the difference between man made and the real thing anyway). Malik's head jerked away from Desmond's hand, ears rotating this way and that. Then the black wolf threw his head back and howled a reply. Desmond quickly pushed himself up into a sitting position, cupped his hands over his mouth, tilted his head back and join in on Malik's message.

From wherever they were, Altaïr and Connor had called out asking _where are you, where are you?_

And his and Malik's reply was _here we are, here we are!_

Altaïr howled again, and Malik hopped up to his feet and started to limp off. Desmond stood and followed after, grimacing at the pain blooming around his chest and shoulders. "You play too rough, dude" Desmond grumbled. One of Malik's ears flickered in response, but Desmond knew he wasn't sorry. Desmond trailed after the wolf along to God knows where, another walk of winding around the mountainside aimlessly. Perhaps that's why Desmond couldn't find his way around for shit, Malik and Altaïr tended to just pick a random ass direction and just started walking. 

They followed invisible trails and paths that seemingly went in circles until they ended up in a place completely different from where they started. At least when the ground began to slope up, Desmond knew what direction they were going. And he had a hunch as to where exactly they would end up. That clearing way up on the mountain he was led to on his first full moon was the favored spot of the boys. Every month, they went back to that spot to eat, play, romp, and rest. That is where Malik took him in the end, and that is where Altaïr and Connor waited for them. Altaïr's wolf all but barreled into them, throwing himself at Malik to lick at his mate's face and rub against him. No matter how long they had been apart, they always acted like they hadn't seen each other in forever, like every moment not spent together was completely unbearable. _True puppy love._

Connor was farther back, tending to a small fire he had going. Desmond moved towards him, muttering a greeting before plopping down next to the survivalist. 

"Cold?" Connor asked, using a long, thin branch to stroke the fire and keep it burning.

"Only when I stop moving" Desmond said. All the walking and moving helped him stay a little warm, but now sitting on the freezing ground, he was desperate for warmth. It wasn't like he had a fur coat like Altaïr and Malik, nor was his own jacket the most appropriate for the climate. And he wasn't built like a tank like Connor was, who just didn't _seem_ to feel cold at all. Desmond's winters were always spent in nice places, like San Diego or Miami. Warm places. Not places that had a threat of snowfall.

"Get used to it then, winter's just starting here" Connor chuckled, whistling for the boys. The two wolves bounced over, Altaïr finally acknowledging Desmond and attacked the younger Assassin's face with kisses. Deeming it too cold out for wolf kisses, Desmond grimaced and tried to push him away, except then his hands also came under assault to licks as well. 

"Yes, yes okay I love you too" Desmond finally laughed. A coffee colored tail wagged delightfully, and only Altaïr could make a happy face work on a wolf. Altaïr gave him one last lick to the chin before deciding to curl up on Desmond's lap. Desmond gasped as two hundred pounds of predator draped itself over him, and it would certainly not be long before he last feeling in his legs (like they always did when the boys decided to act like cats and not wolves). But oh it got worse when Malik , not wanting to be left out on the love, crawled on as well. The black wolf was half on top of his mate, half on the ground in front of them. 

"Aw, cute, they like you" Connor teased with a smirk.

"And it really fucking hurts" Desmond gasped, trying to shift in his spot but couldn't as the boys were like two crushing weights keeping him in place. And only four more hours to ho until morning.

 

* * *

 

 

**Four Years Ago**

 

 

Consciousness came and went after that. His eyelids would flutter open for the brifest of moments

before sliding shut. He only caught glimpses of where he was, who was around him, and what was happening. These moments Altaïr still cannot recall properly. Fleeting memories of a time when his body was at war with itself. A time when a new presence made itself known, another _soul_ bleeding into his bones, sharing his body instead of conquering it like a cancer. If he had been properly awake for it, Altaïr would have been terrified of this growing _parasite_ within him. But thankfully, the awakening and growth of the beast was exhausting at vest, and sleep was a necessity.

But he could remember first becoming _aware_. Those first terrifying days of re-birth, when the wolf, just a mere newborn pup, was waking up and connecting to his senses. Altaïr remembered being blind and deaf, unable to see where he was or hear his own cries. His nose, a useless thing, could barely smell a thing. But he knew the feel of a blanket when his hands clenched one. Despite his panic, he could feel how comfortable he was. The sheets beneath him, the pillow below his head and the mattress against his back…A bed. He was in a bad.

And he was cold. And he was hungry. He had been an utter wreck of a man during this time. Later on, when he was able to see and able to hear again, he had been told of how needy he had been, how weak and pitiful he had become during that first two week interval. How he was always too cold or too hot, his body temperature constantly jumping around. His appetite was another oddity. He could be absolutely ravenous, but he'd hardly eat for a minute before pushing it away and falling asleep.

Vexing behavior that slowly improved.

 By the third week, Altaïr was able to find the strength to open his eyes and finally try to see again. His sight was foggt and cloudy, and it took several days to clear up. When it finally did, by god he could _see_! Every small inch, every detail was suddenly very, very visible. When the nurse came around to check on him, he could see every wrinkle, noticed every bunching of muscles, the tiniest of movements he would see!

His hearing returned along with his sight and that's when things really got concerning. It was so gradual, merely just the blood coursing through his ears. then his heartbeat, the scratching of sheets. The monitors that recorded his vitals, their dull hums and shrill beeps. Then birds tweeting at each other, _outside_ of his window. And if he concentrated hard enough, the hum of traffic out on the street. Or perhaps nurses treading through the halls, the squeaking of cats, the sounds of other people. It was enough to give him a headache.

The scariest part of it all? When the doctor or a nurse was with him…he could hear them too. Their blood swirling through their body, the beat of their hearts in their chests, the inhale and exhale of the their lungs. He could hear all that. It scared him because no one should be able to see or hear this way. And it only kept getting worse from there. It got worse when his sense of smell kicked in. Antiseptics, metal, wood, cotton, paint, sickness, medicine, urine, sadness, pain, _prey_. Altaïr spent a day lying in bed learning to cope with it. Like it all the excess noise, he needed to learn to block it all out, just ignore it.

It was frightening when a nurse came in. She smelled like soap, and cotton, and something floral like (perfume?). And like milk, and food, and of other people and she smelled _good._ Altaïr had barely been able to look at her and not think of maybe a cowering rabbit or a mouse. Small, soft, weak, prey food. The mucky goop they fed him soon became something he could no longer swallow, it had become too unappetizing and made his stomach roar. And it didn't help when his mouth salivated occasionally when looking at the nurse. Those soft muscles would have been so easy to tear through…

So he asked for meat. Something meaty, a steak or a chicken wing, something that would calm his appetite. Altaïr practically had to beg them- "Bring me something made of meat, please!" 

And they finally, finally did. A large, well done steak that he shredded and devoured in seconds, and then asked for more. He desperately needed more! His new appetite was a great curiosity to the hospital staff. How could a man, pitiful and weak, change this much in less than four weeks? 

But then again, they were still trying to figure out how a man could grow back his esophagus trachea while he was just being admitted into their care. At the time, they had no explanation for it. And when they finally did, they still didn't quite believe it. 

Eventually Altaïr conquered his sensory overload, learning to ignore all the excess details that was present during his stay in that damned hospital. They refused to discharge him even after his body had long since repaired itself. He was trapped there to sit in that bed, bored out of his skull when he finally felt healthy enough to kept up and run. 

So one day he just ripped off what chords were monitoring him, threw off the blankets, and climbed out of bed. He was only ever  allowed to do so with a nurse's supervision for the purpose of attending to nature's pressing matters. But the restroom was not his destination, but the hall, to the rest of the hospital. 

Unknown, foreign territory he had only smelled from his bed. But now unrestrained, Altaïr had wandered the hall in an aimless search for nothing. He let his nose lead the way, past and current scents telling him more than sight or sound could. He could tell how recently someone had been in the rooms he passed, what their ailment may have been, their gender, and he even thought maybe their age!

Altaïr wasn't even seeing these people in the flesh, but he could just tell by the smell alone. And for the first time since waking up here, he was excited. Never in his wildest dreams could he ever hope for such abilities. They were strange and scary, but they his mind was racing ahead to what they could for him as an Assassin. He wondered if Mario knew yet, ah he couldn't wait to tell him! And oh, Ezio would think it amazing as well! His cousin would be thrilled…or jealous. And then he'd tell Kadar and Malik- 

_The sound of Kadar hitting the ground…A horrible snarling…Ripping of clothes, then flesh…screaming…screaming…screaming…_

_Those great jaws wrapped around Malik's bicep and tearing away hard…_

Biting back biles as those images and sounds played across his mind, Altaïr slumped against the nearest wall. Kadar was dead. Malik possibly the same as far as he knew. Altaïr hadn't seen or heard from his love since. His chest began to ache terribly, and hot tears stung at his eyes. Until now, between his own mysterious torment, the Al-Sayf brothers hadn't even crossed his mind. To remember them so suddenly…It hurt so much.

"Malik" Altaïr whined pathetically. "Malik, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry"

That is what he had been reduced to, a sad, sad man crying alone in a hallway, who even with these odd gifts that hd been bestowed upon him, couldn't even find the love of his life. Or so he thought. 

He thought he had heard it between his pitiful sniffling, pausing in his weeping when he just might have heard it a second time. The hall was empty save for himself, so what was-

_"Altaïr?"_

His head snapped towards the direction his name came from. His heart nearly thudded to a stop, was that, no it couldn't be…

"Malik?" he called out.

_"Altaïr!"_

Now he was running, flying down the hall like he was the wind itself. He slid around a corner, barreled down corridors, and came to a screeching halt at the end of one. This wing of the hospital made the hair on the back of his neck prickle as a foreign scent invaded his senses.

"Malik?" he croaked out, hoping wherever the other man was, he was _not_ on the other side of this condemned territory.

"Altaïr wait, hold on!" Malik called out. Altaïr strained to listen, hearing the ever familiar throwing off of wire and blankets, the fall of feet on linoleum, and then the man himself appeared in a doorway. Altaïr's breath caught in his throat, there he was! But the first lungful of air had him growling at his boyfriend. 

Malik's shoulders bunched up, body tensing, lips pulled back into a snarl. It was the first time they had ever smelled each another wolf aside from themselves, each with their own territories at opposite sides of the hospital. And right now, Altaïr was a stranger in a potential rival's territory, and their wolf sides had not liked it one bit.

They stood in that hall, growling and snarling at one another, slowly inching together without breaking eye contact. Altaïr, for whatever reason, kept thinking that the longer he stared, the more it would unnerve his boyfriend and cause him to back down. Unfortunately, Malik was just as stubborn, and their pissing match continued. It only ended when Altaïr glanced down for the briefest of seconds and finally noticed for the first time that Malik's left arm only went down to the man's shirt sleeve.

"Malik" Altaïr whispered, that vision of the wolf ripping off the other's man replaying in his mind. "Malik" he repeated, his bravado falling at the sight. Malik's shoulders slumped, his snarl disappeared and he turned away from him.

"Rude to stare you know" Malik grumbled sadly. That terrible ache in Altaïr's chest returned. Head bowed, posture relaxed, he slunk up to Malik, carefully brushing against him before flat out wrapping him in a hug and kissing his lips. 

And thus, the alphas had found their mates.


	2. Come As You Are

So nothing was bigger and better in Apterton than hunting season. For five weeks everyone pulled out their guns, tramped out into the woods and shot deer all day. And ohhhhh boy did Altair and Malik love it. Aside from cooking up steaks on the grill, Desmond had never seen them more excited about anything. Hard to tell if it was just the prospect of going out and shooting something riled them up, or the potential hunt to satisfy the wolves in them.

And the hunt, Desmond had to think, was the absolute fun part for them. Animals hated the boys. No, fear them really, ran from them and hid until they left. Couldn’t even walk down the street without a dog on the other side of the road freaking out the hell out. Stepping out the front door was a five-mile long announcement to get the fuck out of dodge while you still could. It was helpful in terms of pest control, no mice ever lived in the barn and no birds ever attacked Connor’s vegetable patch.

How every full moon the boys managed to bag a deer or a rabbit was still a mystery. They were master hunters in wolf form and could pop up next to you without any sort of warning, but surely these animals weren’t that unobservant to not see the two-hundred pound wolf coming at them. So how the boys managed to hunt in human form, with guns, and with dozens of other people all after the same thing was something Desmond was going to have to figure out for himself firsthand.

And sitting in the truck bed huddled next to Altaïr, he was excited in his own right. This year was obviously different because Desmond was getting in on the action. The rest of his summer had been spent learning how to use a rifle. The Assassin's, in terms of firearms, preferred small pistols,  or semi-automatics. The hunting rifle however, was something Desmond was unfamiliar with before Altaïr had taught him to use it properly (then again, all Desmond knew about any sort of gun was point, shoot. and hope you don't miss).

With this open season, Desmond could finally show his incredible teacher what he could really do. He didn't know why, but impressing Altaïr was suddenly the most important damn thing in the whole world. He had been working insanely hard to get his older cousin's approval on his marksmanship. Mostly because nothing impressed Altaïr since he could _apparently_ do everything ten times _better_ than _everyone_ else. Wasn't even a wolf thing either, just big headedness that succeeded in annoying everyone.

But to really impress the giant walking prickass? To get a "good job" or a pat on the back from him? Fuck yes. It really shouldn't have mattered _this_ much to him, but Altaïr was the one who payed the most attention to him, and had actually liked him right off the bat and-

"Sonofabitch!" Desmond cried as his ass flew up into the air and came back down with a hard thud.

"Oh my god that was everything I had hoped it would be" Altaïr cackled, literally holding his sides as he laughed.

"You ass, why didn't you warn me about that bump?!" Desmond moaned as he rubbed his now sore tailbone.

"Because that wouldn't have been as funny" Altaïr chuckled. "Maybe you should be paying attention to the road instead of being off in la-la land, baby cousin"

Desmond huffed and kicked out at the Syrian. His foot was easily caught, and he was pulled close to his cousin before being shoved across the truck bed. Desmond smacked into the tailgate with a loud "oof". As Altaïr sneered at him triumphantly, Desmond reminded himself that messing with the alpha male in a moving vehicle was a terrible idea, especially when he was lucky that he was thrown across the truck bed, and not out of it. 

* * *

 

There was a _line_ in front of the ranger station by the time they arrived. Desmond dreaded every second he had to stand in it. Because one, it was chilly outside and two, the other hunters scared him. Hardened, big beefy hunting vets with beards shaggier than the boys as wolves. And like the boys as wolves, they all stared at him like he was a slab of meat with a sign around his neck that said "eat me". 

The staring in general was uncomfortable. Not because staring was rude, but in wolf world, that was an open challenge. Desmond couldn't bring himself to look up at any of them, respectfully keeping his gaze on the floor. May have been shy and weak looking to the _normal_   people, but in wolf talk, he was basically saying "you're my better, I'm submitting to you". He had to do this with the boys just about every day, it was pretty much second nature by this point. But the staring did openly stop when Altaïr and Malik gave everyone glares of their own that cause the others to look away less they catch on fire. 

Season wasn't even open yet and now everyone knew that Desmond Miles was fresh meat and no competition whatsoever, _Great._

He was completely silent the entire time they were in line, his companions idly chatting with the other men they were at least friendly with. He heard about all sorts of things, like new guns, new strategies, goals to bring in the biggest buck, But his heart nearly thudded to a stop when someone mentioned hopefully bagging "those damn wolves" that were running about. But everyone, including the pack, laughed at the man who mentioned it. Everyone went on to tell him that there absolutely were no wolves around Aperton, all he ever was heating were coyotes, and even if there were wolves, shooting them would be illegal anyway. Desmond was able to relax after that.

It wasn't ever like Altaïr and Malik were troublemakers. They stayed away from other farms around the base of the mountain, never threatened people's livestock, and basically kept to themselves. They were relatively well mannered wolves on full moons, and just the thrill of being able to run free was way more important than some dumb cows. And it wasn't like any farmer could harm them, not with normal bullets anyway.

Part of learning to shoot was shooting at a live target. Altaïr had been that target. It had been the freakiest thing ever, a gushing stomach wound that had closed up in minutes. The fucking _bullet_ was pushed _out_ of Altaïr's body, and the wound healed itself over, scarred, then faded away. The only evidence of the whole ordeal was the dried blood on the waistband of Altaïr's pants. A shot from a rifle or a blast from a shotgun was nothing.

Finally it was Desmond's turn to register. It was like being at the DMV for the first time, a proud father with his son, announcing they were here to get said son's driver license. Except only Altaïr was all proud about it and Desmond wasn't sixteen. And he was getting a hunting license, not a driver's. But registration was easy, he just gave them false information they couldn't link him back to. Not that anyone would come check, which was why it was so easy and they didn't even physically ask to see his weapon's permit (which he didn't have on him because the Asssassin's didn't think it necessary to give him one when he came here). Small town hillbillies who didn't follow the laws were absolutely perfect.

Once outside, it was just another who knows how long of standing around and sizing everyone up to see who was competition and who wasn't. Like the one guy who pulled up in a battered pick-up and looked like the world's biggest loser. A scrawny, squirrely looking thing that scuttled into the ranger's station like the sky would fall down on him at any second.

The handful of men they were with practically erupted into laughter, _who was this chump?_ So maybe Desmond had a chance in this unofficial tourney of manliness after all. What could _that_ guy do that would be any better than him? Wanting to share his new confidence, he turned to Altaïr only to find him and Malik staring at the station. Their mouths were moving, but they weren't talking loud enough for the others to hear. Not like they were talking in actual English anyway. All Desmond heard was Arabic dripping off their tongues, but what they were talking about he didn't have a clue.

But they didn't stop staring at the station. Didn't stop when the wimpy looking nerd slipped back out, but turned their gazes towards him and watched him run up to his car, enter, and drive away. Once he was out of sight did they stop. But Desmond knew something wasn't right.

* * *

 

Altaïr didn't like this. And he knew Malik didn't like it either. They both really didn't like this. But they didn't know what to make of it. Why had he been red? No one in town was red, Well, except Captain Donalds (or Captain Scuzzbutt as Desmond like to call the crotchety douchebag of a cop), but that was because he had something against everyone. This guy though, _that_ guy. He was red. And no one was red.

He hadn't even meant to use it, the wolf's enhanced vision. Or "eagle vision" as the eggheads back at HQ called it. It was an ability that the Assassin's had possessed for centuries. It just took a very skilled Assassin to unlock it. And becoming a werewolf was the right kick to use it. They could use it whenever they wished, a simple blink of the eye and their world would change. The ability very rarely turned on by itself without any sort of instruction, so it worried Altaïr when his vision went dark and that man glowed red as apposed tot he white and blue around him. 

He had a feeling his wolf was trying to tell him something. That something about that pathetic looking man was dangerous. But how? He didn't look threatening, sound it, or smell it. Especially smell. Standing there with all the others, with his pack and mate, nothing had smelled wrong. And that was scary. His nose never failed him, it was always right. But this super sensitive nose hadn't picked up a thing from that man. All he could pick was he ever familiar pack smell, car exhaust, gun oil, men, pine, rabbit, squirrel, woodpecker, dirt…

But not that man.

Malik noticed it too thankfully.

 _"Did you get that?"_ Malik asked.

 _"There was nothing to get"_ Altaïr said, incredibly bothered by it.

_"He was red. Why?"_

_"I don't know"_  

And it was really, really bothersome. When they finally did leave the station, Malim sat in the truck bed with Altaïr, pushing Desmond up to the front with Connor. Half the drive back into town was silent as they gathered their thoughts on this. That man had been red. Red meant he was an enemy. And he didn't have a scent they could pick up on. And, to Altaïr at least, made him want to throw up because his whole inside was panicking. Wolf was freaking out, and it was scared, and the anxiety of it all was making him sick. 

"I hate this" Altaïr growled. "I really hate this, and I can't figure out what _this_ is"

"He's not a threat" Malik stated. "But why are they acting like he is?"

"They know something we don't" Altaïr said. "Trouble is, how can they tell us? It's not like they can just open their mouths and speak English to anyone" 

"We'll figure it out" Malik reassured. "All we need is a name. Besides, we'll be seeing him a lot sooner than we think" 

Altaïr nodded, his hand creeping around them until he found Malik's. His hand was squeezes, and he managed to relax a bit. yes, they would figure it out. Maybe.


	3. Bark At The Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I don't know anything about guns. But I do know you can paint them cool colors. Okay now start reading

Desmond stared dumbly at the snow just outside the door. He could not, would not, should not accept that it _snowed_ last night. Sure it had been really cold last night, but he didn't think it would be cold enough for snow. Shivering, Desmond closed the door, walked back upstairs to his room, and crawled back into bed. He was _not_ going out there. At all. No fucking way. Not happening. He'd rather be surfing down in Miami or San Diego, not freezing his ass off in fucking Aperton, Montana.  Hunting for deer in this weather? Yeah no fucking thanks, they could wake him up in spring, he was gonna hibernate this winter.

"Desmooooond" Altaïr cried as he charged into the room, flopping onto the bed and shaking Desmond's shoulder. "Come on sleepyhead, outta beed. Get dressed, get ready, you're wasting tiiime"

"Too cold" Desmond whined. "I'm hibernating this year"

"Wolves don't do that! Get up!" Altaïr growled, and in one swift movement, knocked Desmond out of the bed, blankets and all. Desmond blinked away the dust as he struggled to untangle himself and get off the floor. Altaïr was already out of the room, cackling madly as he ran off to most likely tell Malik what he did.

"Yet you turn into a werehyena" Desmond grumbled to himself, finally freeing his legs from the blanket, and threw the blanket back on to the bed. Sighing, he began to change out of his pajamas, goosebumps erupting across his skin as he lifted his shirt up. Sucking in a surprised gasp, he shrugged of the rest of his shirt and dug out something much warmer to wear, then a sweatshirt over that. Getting his pants off was just as terrible, pulling on bulkier, warmer swears for now before his balls froze to his boxers.

He didn't really fucking like the cold. 

Once he was back downstairs, he was met the unusual sight of Connor already tapping away at his laptop while lounging amongst the dozens of pillows in the living room. Which was odd because normally Connor was out doing whatever it was Connor's did first thing in the morning. Desmond suspected it had something to do with all the snow outside. But even more unusual? The smell of bacon in the air. And if Connor clearly wasn't cooking, and Desmond just got here, then who was…

"Are they making breakfast?" Desmond asked, incredibly surprised by the idea. Usually the boys didn't cook, preferring to eat most everything raw. But to have them actually making food? Oh, this was something he had to see.

"Yup. The Huntsman's Victory Breakfast" Connor said. _The what?_ Desmond gave Connor a look, and the survivalist continued on. "Every year on the first day of open season, everyone in town who's going hunting makes a big ass breakfast big enough for three families. So basically, we'll be eating bacon omelets all day long. Because Altaïr and Malik love it, and love seeing how much meat they can possibly wrap in one egg" 

"All day food-a-thon then. I can get into that" Desmond grinned.

"Wait till you see the mess they make" Connor snorted. "They don't clean up after themselves"

"My kitchen" Desmond whimpered defensively, hurrying over to the slides that closed the kitchen off from the living room. Because he was the one who actually cooked in it, kept it clean, kept it stocked, actually _used_ it. To have the boys in there, mucking shit up? Hell no. 

Pushing the slide aside, Desmond poked his head in to see what they were up to. And lo and behold, they actually were cooking. Busy between reaching into the fridge and buzzing over the stovetop, babbling at each other in Arabic as they did. Desmond still didn't have a clue as to what they were saying, but it sounded….loving? Their body language was easier to decipher. Constantly brushing up against each other, actual smiles on their faces, and that _habibi_ word being used over and over again.

Desmond pulled his head back and slide the divider back in place. Well, at least someone was excited about being awake this early in the cold. And in such good moods too, which most likely wouldn't last long, but for now it was all good for feeling so happy. So Desmond simply joined Connor at the pillows and let his hunger grow while waiting for breakfast.

He had accidentally almost fallen back asleep when the divider finally slid open, and Altaïr and Malik slipped out with trays of of food. Though Desmond dreaded what he would find in the kitchen, the food crafted in it was surprisingly tops. Bacon and mushroom omelets stuffed with olives and chopped potatoes. Pancakes were crowded onto the plate, practically drowning in syrup and butter. Hot bowls of oatmeal were brought out, followed by some incredible mugs of black coffee that certainly didn't need anything extra in it. That was their breakfast to eat right there and then., and plenty more to come as Altaïr and Malik were constantly in and out of the kitchen until divider was eventually slid shut as the two chefs of the day continued to cook up a storm.

Their hard work did not go unappreciated. Desmond couldn't put his fork or spoon down, wanting to eat it al slowly to savor the taste, but couldn't as it was all too delicious to not wait for. If Altaïr and Malik could make _breakfast_ this amazing, why didn't they cook more often? Why make him and Connor do all the work? If the boys were allowed to have at it for one morning, surely the other three-hundred sixty-four days of the year would be fine. But Desmond could just be lazy and didn't want to put in as much energy into his cooking as the boys did, so that could have been it really.

When his plate was clean, his oatmeal gone and his coffee drained, Desmond sat back in utter content. If every day of open season started off like this, he wouldn't mind getting up so early in the cold. That is, until he saw the kitchen when he squeezed in to put his dishes away. Greasy pans and pots crowded the sink, food _stuff_ plastered to the cabinets and counters. It looked like a bomb had gone off and the only ones not affected were the ones who set it off.

"Altaïr! Malik!" Desmond nearly screeched. "What did you to the kitchen?!"

"Cooked in it, what does it look like, pup?" Malik answered, dumping some flour into a bowl. 

"Oh it's fine" Altaïr reassured, mixing the bowl of flour up with some eggs and water. "We'll clean it up later, don't worry"

"Don't worry?" Desmond echoed disbelievingly. "Like hell you will. I'm gonna be the one who's gonna end up cleaning all this up!"

"Oh yeaaaaah" Altaïr and Malik said together before cackling like the hyenas they should turn into every full moon. Desmond frowned at them as he wiggled past to at least set his dishes next to the sink. On his return to the living room, his shoulder was affectionately jabbed at, and his short hair ruffled. _Ligthen up_ they were telling him, but how could he when his kitchen was a wreck, it had snowed last night, and it was freezing cold outside? All before seven o'clock? Unless he could go back to bed and stay there, cheering up wasn't happening.

And he only hated it worse when Connor dragged him outside to load up the truck. The gun case holding the rifles and ammo were hauled up, as well as a few, more basic camping like kits that just barely left room for anyone to sin in the bed, let alone two people. At least up in the front seat Desmond got to sit with the big ass lunch bag in his lap, nearly filled to the brim with incredibly smelling food they literally would be eating all day. When the truck was packed and properly outfitted with snow chains, they finally took off back to the ranger's station where they signed up for the season. 

When they arrived, there were plenty of other trucks and jeeps crowding the outside of the station with still plenty more to follow. And _oh there were a lot of guns_. Simple rifles, fancy rifles, ones with scopes, and ones without. There were were smaller looking ones, then some that looked like it should be illegal to own. Desmond nearly dreaded pulling out a simple rifle he had been practicing with, shivering furiously as he waited for the cases to be unlocked.

However, the rifles Altaïr and Connor pulled out were not  ones Desmond had ever seen before. They were newer, sleeker, better. Altaïr's was a dark red with the design of a bird- no an eagle- painted on it. Connor's was dark blue with angry white claw marks printed on the butt. Even Malik had one of his own, a black rife with with a sword painted in white across it. A harness of sorts was wrapped around Malik's shoulders and chest so he could both hold and shoot, probably something the eggheads back at headquarters whipped up for him.

And Desmond's, well…

He was absolutely shocked when Altaïr resented it to him, a startling white rifle with red decals and a black eagle design printed on its butt.

"Happy hunting, Des" Altaïr grinned. "Just don't let anything happen to her, kay?"

"You got it" Desmond said breathlessly, completely forgetting about the snow, the cold, the mess back home, and the others hunters probably watching him. He had a brand fucking new rifle to hunt with! He hadn't even dreamed about owning his own gun, never assumed he'd ever actually got to use another one other than the weaker, older rifles he had been practicing with. But of course, that had been practice, and this was the real thing. Now was the time to bring out the literal big, nice guns, really say "I'm here much better than all of you", then back it up with bringing the biggest buck they could. And with Altaïr's and Malik's enhanced senses, that wouldn't be a problem.

The battered pick-up pulled into the lot again, parking right _next_ to them. Altaïr and Malik immediately tensed up, staring at the truck and the loser of a man who slid out of it. The man rounded over to the bed of the vehicle and froze on the spot at the sight of the boys openly staring at him. Desmond knew that reaction all too well, the deer caught in the headlights, the lamb before the wolf, the feeling of a predator in your sights. Hoping to at least diffuse the tension, Desmond pushed his way past the boys and smiled warmly at the other man. 

"Morning!" he greeted cheerfully. "Nice day for a hunt, yeah?"

The man's prey trance snapped, and he nodded nervously in return. "Ah, my name's Desmond Miles" Desmond continued, sticking out a hand towards the man.

"Hannigan" the man finally said as he out to shake Desmond's hand. "Chris…Hannigan"

"Nice to meet you, Chris. Good luck out there today!"

"Yeah…You too, Desmond" Hannigan nodded again, letting go of his hand and turning back to this truck to pull out his supplies. Crisis averted, Desmond turned back to the boys to find they were no longer behind him. Connor had them off the side, standing between then with a hand clenching the back of their necks each. As Desmond circled around to the front of them, he could hear the harsh tones from Connor, and when standing in front of them, see the pissed off faces of Altaïr and Malik. Connor let them go, the boys shaking their shoulders and necks out. 

They weren't hurt by it as werewolves didn't get hurt from anything other than guns, and maybe monster trucks. Silver monster trucks that shot silver bullets would be more deadly, fatal really. No, in wolf talk (or maybe most animal talk), being held by the scruff was more like the equivalent of "fuck you, you're a baby and I'm the one in charge here". Desmond would know, all three of them had used that grip on him countless times. With their hands, and with their teeth. And judging by the expressions on the boys' faces, something similar would happen to Connor in return in the near future.

 Instead, without so much as a glance at Desmond or a word to anyone at all, the boys set out for the trees, not bothering to wait for the rest of their pack, bringing anything else with them other than whatever was in their hands.

"Guys, wait, come on!" Desmond called out to them, neither of them so much as glancing back.

"Leave them. Let them have their temper tantrum on their own" Connor said, sliding packs of ammo into various pouches on his person.

"What if they hurt someone?" Desmond asked.

"They won't" Connor grunted. "At least, they better not if they know what's good for them" 

Desmond wasn't convinced. They looked really, really pissed off, and who knew what they could do. _Would_ do with all these people around. Except Hannigan. When Desmond does look back at the battered pick up, Hannigan was gone, and Desmond didn't remember seeing him leave.


	4. The Fast and the Furriest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPEH BURFDAY. On this day in the U.S.A, the Bad Moon series debuted on the internet. And now one year later, still going strong, Chapter 4 of part 2 of the Bad Moons. Thanks for reading everyone, you're all great. Also, the Open Season soundtrack is up on the Bad Moon tumblr page, so check it out when you can (preferably after reading this chapter)

"Stay human for me please. Kinda hard to carry two guns with one hand" Malik growled, and Altaïr rolled his eyes at him.

"I will, don't worry" Altaïr reassured. "Can't change here anyway, too many people still"

Way too many people for comfort. Especially red glowing _Hannigan_ person with no scent. "Think he followed us?"

"I'm hoping he did" Malik said. "Otherwise finding him is gonna be a bitch"

That fact alone still made them uneasy. Everything had a scent. But not him. And he glowed red. That meant he was bad. So very, very bad. They had yet to tell Connor or Rauf about this. Connor's reprimanding was still too fresh, and Altaïr was still coming up with a way to punish him for that. Rauf, good Rauf they had known since forever, he would believe them, right? Would the Brotherhood be notified?

No! Couldn't let them know. Then his pack would be moved, His territory would be ripped away from him. Nope, not allowed.

But what about Desmond? Desmond would totally believe them. He was a stupid puppy, but he would. Or should they tell anyone at all? Was it safe to tell yet? Altaïr wasn't ewally sure yet. His fellow pack members couldn't _see_ it like he and Malik could. Nor _hear_ or _smell_ it (even if there was nothing to smell). This was something Altaïr and Malik would have to deal with by themselves. Because whatever _this_ was, it was bad and evil and threatening and needed to go the hell away. 

Snow crunched beneath their feet, treetops laden with the white powder. The air smelled cold, a scent Altaïr still wasn't used to after four years. Still hated how early it snowed here. Still needed to send in a request to move to the middle of Arizone or Nevada, at least for the winter, still couldn't lose current territory. Maybe after _this_ whole mess was taken care of.

There wasn't much of anything interesting  to seek out. Rabbit, nah didn't care. Deer? No, faint smell of deer, no deer here. Woodpecker somewhere around here. Wasn't hunting woodpecker. _Hannigan_ though, where was _Hannigan_? He wasn't following them, they would have heard him doing that. Unless he could mask sounds like he could smell. The thought of that made him shiver. Altaïr brushed up against Malik for reassurance, and his mate pressed back, easing some of his anxiety.

They wordlessly trekked through the forest, staying away from any other hunters they picked up on. It was sort of depressing, their open season on hold because red glowing asshole had moved in on their territory. But their instincts had taken over, and their wolf sides would not relax until the problem was dealt with. They didn't have a clue as to where Connor or Desmond would be, and Altaïr hoped they were at least hunting as planned without them. He still couldn't understand why Desmond had been so friendly with that _Hannigan_ thing. Dumb pup still had much to learn.

Something nearby snapped, Altaïr's and Malik's bodies tensing and twisting around to face the direction the sound came from. They couldn't see what  it was yet, but heard….Altaïr could hear it, an intense whispering just tickling at his ears. He smelled it first, the overpowering scent of musk and wildness, carrion, and then something…more ancient.

"Malik, do you smell-" Altaïr's question was cut off as it all but materialized before them. It was big, really big. Large face, tiny ears and eyes with a ferocious snout. It has giant paws that looked like it could nape a man's back with one swipe. Monstrous claws adorned the paws, looking capable of tearing anything to shreds. And for whatever reason, a golden aura seemed to hover around it. But when Altaïr really _looked_ at it, all he saw was one, big, angry red bear. The bear snarled at them, rising to stand on its back feet to tower over them.

Too bad they didn't have a bigger gun.

The bear snarled at them again, its great paws lifting into the air and then came slamming back down. Altaïr and Malik leapt out of the way, the earth cracking beneath the force of the blows meant for them. Altaïr turned and shot at the beast, shocked when the ear-shattering bullet rocketed into the bear, but did nothing to further enrage the beast more.

Altaïr dropped his rifle, crouching low and growling fiercely at the bear. Whatecer was with this thing, bullets weren't going to help here. Wolf though, Wolf was howling at the doors of his mind, scratching and pounding against them. _Let me out_ it was telling him. _Let me fight!_ But Changing would take too long. Chaning would leave him vulnerable. The Change could be the death of him.

The beast bellowed in pain, whipping around to reveal long gashes in its flank. The bear now faced Malik, who's clawed hand had blood dripping from the tips. With their attacker distracted, Altaïr leapt, his own thickening hands gripping the already bloody flank and clawing at it furiously. A gigantic paw swatted him away, catching him off guard and causing him to land on the ground with a hard thud.

Side throbbing, Altaïr blinked past the blood dribbling down his face to see Malik rolling away from the bear's now marred face, canines flashing at it before swiping at it again. Ignoring his pain, Altaïr got to his feet, jumping at the bear again, this time aiming for the back. The bear roared, rising to its hind legs once more. Altaïr held fast, sinking his claws past thick fur and into flesh. His booted feet slipped against the dense fur as he struggled to get a foot hold. His grip tightened as the bear landed on all fours again, the ground beneath buckling from the intensity of the drop.

With another mighty roar, the bear threw him off. This time, Altaïr distinctly felt something crack, and fresh pain blossomed around his ribs with each breath of air he took. _Where the hell was Malik?_ He hardly had time to think, not when those monstrous paws were coming right for him, and he just barely rolled away in time. The shredding of cloth pierced his ears, and cold air stung at his back. And why the fuck wasn't his ribs healed yet? Still in pain, Altaïr struggled to  his feet, managing to slash out at the beast when it came closer.

A bear, in Aperton. Totally unreal. Not even a bear would dare challenge a wolf like him, most animals wouldn't even consider getting near him! But that golden aura, those blank eyes that didn't even bat when claws ripped at its snout…

What was this thing? 

Altaïr tensed as one of those giant paws towered over him, ready to dodge, to leap, to bite! When suddenly a dark shape came flying at the bear's shoulder. It tumbled over, snarling as it rolled away. A wolf with fur as black as the night stood between Altaïr and the bear, growling fiercely at the latter, lips pulled back to reveal sharp teeth. Altaïr sometimes forgot how strong Malik was.

The bear was back to its feet, its attention now locked on the wolf. Malik kept his grounded, looking incredibly fearsome, a stark contrast from the normally relaxed wolf Altaïr chased around the mountain every full moon. The bear lumbered forward, and with impossible speed, Malik raced for the beast's throat, latching on to it as a big, black leech. The bear roared in pain, swining itd neck as Malik dangled from it like a rag. 

Altaïr took this chance, jumping at the other side of the neck and hooked himself on, one hand clinging on, the other tearing away at fur and flesh. The dirtied snow below them soaked up the onslaught of blood it faced, wold and man an unrelenting force that had their attacker bellowing in pain.

Finally, with one lasy cry, the bear dropped. The golden aura dissipated, and now they head…a bear. A bear that suddenly looked smaller and less fearsome on the ground dead. Blood poured from the wounds it received, the spot it lied in red beneath. 

Altaïr slumped back to the ground himself, more exhausted than he normally should have been. Claws shortened back into normal hands, the adrenaline rush winding down, but the fever of the wolf still ravaging his body. All the blood excited his wolf, making it yearn for freedom, to lap at the spilled blood and romp with his mate. Said mate hobbled over to him, licking at the wounds the bear ripped through and encouraging them to heal. 

But that was the disturbing part, Altaïr _still_ wasn't healing fast enough. His ribcage still ached, breathing was still a chore, and only leftover adrenaline was keeping him going. He wanted to sleep, or at least eat something. Breakfast, he needed more of breakfast. But that was with Desmond and Connor, wherever _they_ were.

"Malik" he whispered, his three-legged mate lifting his furry head to look at him. "Go find them. Go find Connor and Desmond. Beta and pup, go get them" 

The wolf whimpered at him, licking at his chin. Altaïr kissed his muzzle and scratched at his ears. "Go on, go get them. I won't go anywhere"

Malik pulled away from Altaïr, then sped off into the trees.


	5. Walk of the Wolf

Had to find pack, had to find pack. Where was pack? Why not with pack in first place? Oh. Beta. Angry at beta. Was angry at Beta. Not angry anymore. Scared. Mate hurt. Bear hurt mate. Bear dead. Mate still hurt. Had to find pack. Where was pack? 

Lots of smells. Too many smells. Not good smells. Not pack smells. Fire smells. Oil smells. _Guns_ his other half told him. Gun smell. Gun smell bad. Stay away from gun smell. Find pack smell. Had to find pack. _Deer!_ Deer smell? No! Ignore deer, deer would die later. Keep looking for pack.

Rabbit smell! Pause, sniff, look, listen. Rabbit tasty. Rabbit fun to chase. rabbit good. Rabbit still not pack. Keep going, keep looking. Running, running, smell, running, running. Gun smell. Not pack smell. Male, older male, over there! No, keep running. Male can't hurt him. Run past male, male screams. male shoots. Ow, ow, ears hurt! Ears hurt! Tree is hit, tree bark splinters. Poor tree, keep running. Run far away from male.

Stop, wait, listen, smell. Pack? Pack! Were is pack? Wait…there! Running more, must get to pack. He found them. So much running, no stopping, get to pack. Mate was waiting, mate been waiting too long! Must get pack, must help mate.

Now slow down, gun smells and pack smells together. Pack with gun? Why? _Hunting_ other half tells him. Huff, so weak on two-legs, so powerless. But don't want to be shot. Shot feeling bad. Shot feeling _hurts_. Can smell Pup. Pup! Find Pup,  must find Pup. Pup is good, Pup is obedient. _Sometimes._ But Pup will be good for him. _Pup better be good for him._ There is Pup. Pup is alone. He is crouching, sneaking, staring, but not at him. Too easy. Grab Pup by ankle, grab end of leg coverings. Pull, drag, take Pup with. 

Pup yells, Pup struggles. Growl at him, _shut up!_

**"Malik?"** Pup says. **"Malik, let go!"**

No! Must get to mate. Pup does _not_ give him orders! Drop Pup's leg, growl more at him. Pup will be good for him. Pup looks scared, good! Snap at ankles, get u! Can't keep mate waiting anymore! 

**"Desmond!"** and Beta is there with _two_ guns? **"Malik? Why are you like that? What happened, where's Altaïr?** Beta is questioning. Roll eyes, can't speak human right now! Bark at pack, tug at Pup's ankles once more. Pup grumbles, but Pup gets up. Pup obeys. Must get them moving, mate needs help!

No, no, no! Beta and Pup aren't moving, just talking. They need to be moving, running, going! Bump their legs, nip at feet, must make them move! Must get to mate while this body still reigns. Finally they listen! He hears them away through the trees along his scent trail. They falter occasionally, so he must keep them moving. _Keep going, keep going!_

It takes too much time it feels, his pack is too slow on two legs! If they went on all fours, it would be faster. Why can't they be faster? He constantly runs ahead of them, constantly has to urge them along. They make annoyed noises at him, but he ignores them for now. When they do not carry guns, and when they speak the same tongue as he, _then_ he will properly discipline them. 

Until then, he leads and pushes until they are close. When they are close, he runs ahead straight to his mate. His, still in his other body, lounges against the corpse of the bear. The fever still plagues him. He does not understand why his mate is not yet healed, or why his mate does not shed skin for fur.

He approaches his mate and gives his mate's face some concerned licks. **"Malik?"** his mate whispers weakly, missing his muzzle back. The bear has injured his mate so much, and his mate is now so sick, and it saddens him. His mate should be healthy, so why isn't he?

**"Holy shit!"** comes from Pup. Pack has caught up.

**"What the fuck happened??** Beta demands. The answer should be clear, a _bear_ happened. Why were they so blind in addition to being slow? Now Pup and Beta are kneeling beside his mate. Could they make his mate better? Were they competent enough to?

**"Altaïr speak to us. Where'd this thing come from? Why do you look half dead?"** Beta is asking his mate. Mate looks too tired to answer, but mare weakly lifts his head anyway.

**"Dunno"** his mate rasps. **"Came out of nowhere. Beat the shit outta me…..Took forever to kill it…Can't heal. I can't…heal you guys…We're sick. Wolf's sick"**  

He whines, laying his head on his mate's knees. Sick, yes mate was very sick. And he didn't know why. All he could smell was coldness, wetness, old blood, fever, the bear, Beta, the Pup, the trees. But nothing else. So why? Why, why, why? Too depressed to figure it out. Too sad. Mate too sick to think about anything else. 

**"Then you're going home. Day one is over for you"** Beta is saying. Beta smells agitated, smells worried. **"Malik"** Beta speaks to him. **"Find your clothes, change back, we need you human again"**

Human. He hates being caged so his other half can reign free until full moon. _We have to_ his other half is telling him. Doesn't want to, but have to. So he gives his mate one final lick; until next time. Then he turns and limps back to his small shelter where his human second skins and wait. He wishes he could stay longer, but he must go. For now.

Like breathing, the wolf's skin melts away into a human's. Limbs neatly rearranged themselves, fur shrinks down to into simple body hair, canines shorten, and everything was back to the way it was before. The transformation back to human was incredibly swift and painless. He could have sneezed and just like that, Malik would have been back to normal. He shivered, growling at the cold as he clumsily pulled his clothing back on. At least the desire to change had been voluntary, and his wolf had allowed him time to shed clothing before shedding skin for fur. 

After Altaïr had shot the bear and nothing had happened, both Malik and his wolf had realized that no gun would work, and that the situation called for a different kind of fighting. But claws hadn't been enough to take down their strange attacked. Altaïr had always been a distracting enough man on his own, and Malik had used that time to hide, to change, to strike back. What he still couldn't figure out was how easily they were tossed around by that beast of a bear, nor why Altaïr was taking so long to heal. It had been a rather stressing day, from Hannigan's appearance to this bear's.  Nothing was making sense.

Clothes finally back on him, Malik exited his hideaway, picking up his dropped rifle. Connor was helping Altaïr to his feet, Desmond holding his own rifle and Altaïr's (if the safeties weren't on, Malik would tear them all a new one if a stray bullet didn't). Everything just reeked of blood, and Malik almost wished they had extra hands to bring that bear carcass with. But a bear in Aperton? That was almost as ludicrous as wolves being around here!

Even with a body, no one would believe them. But at at the same time, if he ever had to deal with another bear again it would be too soon. The trek back to the truck seemed short compared to the trek away from it, but Malik was just leading them by scent instead of wandering at random. It was a wonder how no one had heard them, surely someone else had been nearby. But there was only two scents to follow, his own and Altaïr's. 

But there was also three pairs of footsteps to follow. So they had been followed, but not by anyone they could sense. At least the possibility of Hannigan following them was there, and maybe at the first sign of danger he had fled. It was just an idea.

Yet when they did get back to the truck, Hannigan's battered pick-up was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if this felt short, than because it was and I actually split this chapter in half, so yeah. Gimmie a break, I haven't been doing anything with my fics for a while, I'm a little out of practice


	6. Do You See

Altaïr was covered in ugly bruises that were very slow to fade away. At least Malik was able to coax his mate into the shower, to at least clean him up and encourage the healing. With hot water on high, Malik carefully rubbed his mate with a cloth until tanned skin was flushed pink. Altaïr continuously  whined, head bowed to avoid the spray of water above. Malik was careful not to accidentally splash the other's face knowing full well his mate absolutely hated having his face wet.

At least it was warm. The house had been freezing when they returned, and it would be a while until the upstairs heated up. Malik still absolutely hated the cold. While it didn't outright bother him too much, he still knew it was there, still knew it was cold, and he still _hated_ it. His desire to move somewhere warmer was always the strongest this time of year, but he knew that the wold belonged here among the trees and hills. One day he'd find a way to take Altaïr somewhere warmer with him. _Mates stayed together for life._

But a warm shower did them both good. And once they were dry? Back to huddling up in the nest of blankets and pillows they called their bed. Altaïr flopped down and curled up beneath a quilt. Malik wasn't so eager to hide and nap however. Rather, he pulled open drawers and to dig out a sketchbook and a pencil, only settling down next to his mate once he did.

If he had not become an Assassin, or a werewolf, Malik surely would have been an architect. Sketches of buildings and cities practically flowed from his fingertips, he simply had the artistic talent for them. Then there was Altaïr who could draw people and weapons with incredible ease. As novices, they would constantly doodle on the margins of their notes then compare them after class.

Even now, Malik and Altaïr still drew. The walls of their their bedroom were coated in their drawings, whether it be on paper or on the wall itself. They were drawings of the places they had gone, people they had seen, animals they had encountered. Some were even food they had eaten, or sometimes the objects of their dreams. When they weren't beating the shit out of each other, or humping, they were most likely drawing.

Right now though, Malik had no intention of drawing some building, but rather sketch out his thoughts. He flipped to the first empty page he found, balancing the sketchbook on his knee as he picked up his pencil to draw. He wrote "Hannigan" at the top of the page, forgoing any attempts at trying to draw the man himself from memory. But he did scratch out a long bump that just vaguely resembled a nose. Which was quickly met with a giant "X" over it, because while they could see and hear Hannigan, they could not smell him.

A simple stick figure sufficed for Hannigan's figure, a horribly thin, weak thing. Next, a rather terrible gun to represent  that he too was a game hunter (Altaïr was better at drawing weapons). Then, another horrible sketch, but this a truck, Hannigan's shitty pick-up. And that was all Malik could think to put down. No, he knew what else. The blocky outline of a person, and he labeled it "red". That was it.

A thin man who hunted, had no scent, had a crappy truck and glowed red. It meant so little to his human aside. But Malik's wolf, his wolf _knew_ what it meant. How it did though, Malik still hadn't a clue.

"You forgot the bear" Altaïr suddenly chimed in. 

 

"How does the bear connect to anything?" Malik asked.

 

"We were looking for Hannigan, but we found the bear instead"

 

"More like it found us"

 

Altaïr sighed and sat up, reaching over to pry the pencil out of Malik's hand, then took the sketchbook from him.

 

"The bear came out of nowhere" Altaïr started, sketching out a bear's head. "It glowed red too"

 

"It _attacked_ us on sight" Malik reminded him. 

 

"And we couldn't hurt it" Altaïr continued, ignoring him. "Not by normal means" and a much nicer drawing of a rile appeared on the page, which got crossed out. "Only our wolves could hurt it" and then scraggly claw marks were drawn. "So obviously it wasn't a normal bear until after it was dead"

 

"Which is concerning because what tell us this won't happen again?" Malik asked. "I mean, these things just don't happen"

 

"Take a good look at us, Malik. I think they do"

 

"But why us? Suddenly we're beacons for weird shit?"

 

"Maybe?" Altaïr shrugged. "Or it could just be Hannigan . Maybe he has a way of hiding his scent, and a way to conjure up bears"

 

"It sounds like magic" Malik said.

 

"And if it is?" Altaïr suggested.

 

"Yeah but we're not magic. Werewolves aren't magic to begin with!"

 

"Don't you think the supernatural implies magic? I mean, we were attacked by a werewolf, Malik! Who turned us into werewolves! So, maybe, I dunno, that shit's all real?" Altaïr went on.

 

"Well if it's real, where's the famed hunter with his silver bullets?" Malik snapped. But the moment he said that, Malik bit down on this lip. Altaïr nodded at him. "Fuck me"

 

"Maybe later" Altaïr responded. "But right now, we kinda have a maybe serious problem here?"

 

"But how do we fix it?" Malik asked. "What can we possibly do other than think on it? We hardly have any proof, just a bunch of assumptions. And even if we're right, who'll believe us?"

 

Altaïr just gave him a look as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

 

"Let''s build up an argument then" Altaïr rolled his eyes and started to sketch away on paper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAN SMELL THAT FILLER!
> 
> 8/28/15- Hey guys what's up. It's been a couple years since I've written BMHR (and Open Season) here, and I've grown a lot as a writer. As such, this project keeps coming back to haunt me, cause now I have the sufficient writing skill to actually write the story that I originally envisioned. Plus with the way I want to take the series in its later chapters, I realized it would be really jarring and off-putting if the earlier works didn't reflect that. It's not gonna happen so, but do know I plan to re-write this series eventually. Consider this story all non-canon in my series. I'll leave it up though, because it's still a fun story people still love today. But in my grand master plan of things, I don't consider it part of the official series any longer. Thanks for reading and supporting the series after all these years though, you're all amazing and I love you.

**Author's Note:**

> I originally entertained the thought of Connor secretly being a werewolf too...But then it didn't make sense so that idea was scrapped before writing. But before you all get any bright ideas, no he will never ever became a wolf.
> 
> ANYWAY, ladies, gentlemen, and goats of the internet, hunting season is officially open. More story, more flashbacks, more Assassiny goodness.


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